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That's usually when it strikes, and the horrors that hide within the beauty come out to play. That side of nature isn't safe, and you should run and hope you're fast enough to get away.
Welcome to Destination Terror, your passport to the scariest places in the world. From haunted hotels to locations of unexplained creature sightings, and even places that we can only visit in our imagination, we will travel to places that will provide excitement, adventure and horror. Today we are visiting Loch Ness, home to the notorious Loch Ness Monster, in Inverness, Scotland.
So if you're into travel and all things scary, listen close and you might just discover your next exciting adventure destination. But hopefully not your final destination.
Destination Terror is an EerieCast original podcast hosted by me, Carmen Carrion. If you would like to send us a suggestion or submit a story with your own experience, you can email them to CarmenCarrion at gmail.com or follow me on Twitter at Carmen Carrion. If you enjoy the show, please follow and rate Destination Terror on Spotify and Apple Podcasts to help us grow.
Also, check out EerieCast.com for more scary podcasts, such as Freaky Folklore, the podcast where together we explore horrifying legends across the world and tell terrifying tales of monsters both ancient and modern. Inverness, Scotland, 1933 The mist clung to the surface of Loch Ness like a shroud, obscuring the dark waters from view.
Angus stood on the shore, his weathered hands gripping the worn wooden oars of his small fishing boat. At sixty-five years old, he had spent most of his life on these waters, but never had he felt such a sense of unease as he did now. "You sure you should be going out there, Angus?" his wife Morag called from the doorway of their small cottage. "The fog's thicker than pea soup, and you know the lock's been restless of late."
Angus turned to look at her, his craggy face set with determination. "I...I must. The fish will not catch themselves, and we need the coin." Morag wrung her hands in her apron, a worried frown creasing her brow. "Just be careful, you old fool, and come back to me in one piece, you hear?" With a nod and a wave, Angus pushed his boat into the water and climbed aboard.
The oars creaked as he began to row, the sound muffled by the thick fog. Soon the shore disappeared from view, and Angus found himself enveloped in a world of grey. As he rowed deeper into the loch, the silence pressed in on him. There was no birdsong, no lapping of waves against the shore. Even the usual splash of fish beneath the surface was absent. It was as if the entire loch was holding its breath.
waiting for something to happen. Angus shook off the feeling of dread that threatened to overwhelm him. He was being silly, letting his imagination run wild like a wee baron. He had been fishing these waters for half a century. There was nothing in Loch Ness that he hadn't seen before. Or so he thought. It started as a ripple, barely perceptible in the calm waters. Angus squinted through the fog, trying to make out the source.
Perhaps it was just a large fish, or maybe a seal that had made its way up from the coast. But then the ripple grew, spreading outward in concentric circles. Something was moving beneath the surface. Something big. Angus felt his heart begin to race, the blood pounding in his ears. "Wheeshed," he whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. "It's nothing but a big fish, you old coward."
As if in response to his words, the water suddenly erupted in a massive splash. Angus jerked back, nearly toppling out of his small boat. Through the mist, he caught a glimpse of something impossible. A long serpentine neck rising from the water, topped by a small head that swiveled to fix its gaze directly on him. Angus felt his blood run cold. Lord above, he breathed.
his voice barely audible. It cannot be! The creature! For what else could it be? Let out a low rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the very water itself. Angus watched in horrified fascination as it began to move towards his boat, its long neck undulating as it swam. With trembling hands, Angus grasped his oars and began to row furiously
His earlier bravado had evaporated, replaced by a primal fear that screamed at him to flee. But the fog was disorienting, and he couldn't be sure which direction would lead him back to shore. The creature was gaining on him, its massive body creating waves that rocked Angus's small boat. He could hear its heavy breathing now, a sound unlike anything he had ever encountered in his long years on the loch.
Suddenly, the boat jerked to a stop. Angus looked down in horror to see a large, flipper-like appendage grasping the side of his vessel. The wood creaked ominously under the creature's strength. "'No, no, no!' Angus muttered, his eyes wide with terror. He scrambled to the other side of the boat, but there was nowhere to go. The creature's head rose out of the water once more."
Its dark eyes fixed on Angus, with an intelligence that seemed almost human. For a moment they stared at each other, the ancient fisherman and the impossible beast. Then, with a sound that was half roar, half screech, the creature lunged forward. Angus's scream was cut short as he was pulled into the cold, dark waters. The next morning dawned clear and bright.
The mist of the previous day burned away by the warm summer sun. Morag stood on the shore, her eyes scanning the placid surface of the lock for any sign of her husband's boat. He should have been back by now, she muttered to herself, worry etching deep lines in her face. As the morning wore on, and there was still no sign of Angus, Morag's concern grew into full-blown panic.
She hurried to the nearby village, her cries for help bringing the other residents running. It's Angus! she gasped, out of breath from her run. He went out fishing yesterday and has not returned. Something's happened, I'm sure of it. The villagers quickly organized a search party. Boats were launched and men scoured the shores of the loch, calling Angus's name. But as the sun began to set,
There was still no trace of the old fisherman or his boat. It was young Ian Campbell who made the grim discovery. His shout brought the other searchers running to a small, rocky cove on the western shore of the loch. "I found his boat," Ian said, his face pale. "Or what's left of it." The group stared in shocked silence at the splintered remains of Angus's fishing boat.
It looked as if it had been crushed by some immense force. The sturdy oak planks reduced to kindling. What in God's name could have done this? Someone whispered. Morag pushed her way to the front of the group, her eyes wild with grief and fear. Where is he? she demanded. Where's my Angus? But there was no sign of the old fisherman's body. Whatever had destroyed his boat seemed to have taken Angus with it.
As the search party made their way back to the village, whispered conversations broke out among them. "You don't think it could be… the monster, do you?" one man asked hesitantly. "Do not be daft," another replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "There's no such thing." But the seed of doubt had been planted. In the days that followed, more stories began to circulate.
Fishermen reported seeing strange ripples in the water, larger than any fish could make. Some claimed to have glimpsed a long serpentine neck rising from the depths before quickly disappearing again. The local newspaper, the Inverness Courier, got wind of the stories and sent a young reporter named Alex Campbell to investigate.
Campbell was skeptical at first, but as he interviewed more and more witnesses, he began to wonder if there might be some truth to the tales. It was Campbell who coined the term "Loch Ness Monster" in his article, published on May 2, 1933. The story spread like wildfire, capturing the imagination of people far beyond the shores of Loch Ness.
But for the residents of the small villages surrounding the lock, the monster, no longer a source of excitement or wonder, it was a thing of terror, a predator that had taken one of their own, and might strike again at any time.
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Through the Scottish Highlands, its surface a mirror reflecting the rugged beauty of the surrounding landscape. At first glance, it appears serene and inviting, a place of quiet contemplation and natural wonder.
The water, smooth as glass on calm days, beckons to visitors, promising cool relief and gentle lapping waves. But beneath that placid surface lies a world of mystery and potential danger. The loch plunges to depths of 230 meters, approximately 755 feet. Its waters murky and impenetrable due to the high peak content of the surrounding soil.
This murkiness feeds the imagination, allowing the mind to conjure all manner of creatures lurking in the darkness below. The loch holds more water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined. A vast, lightless realm where anything might hide. It's no wonder that Loch Ness has become synonymous with its legendary monster, Nessie.
The idea of a prehistoric beast surviving undetected in these waters has captured the public imagination for generations. Whether real or not, the concept of Nessie represents the hidden dangers that nature can conceal. The ancient and unknowable forces that may still exist beyond our understanding.
Every unexplained ripple, every shadow beneath the surface becomes a potential sighting, a reminder that we are not alone in this watery world. The loch's very geography seems designed to unsettle. It sits along the Great Glen Fault, a weakness in the Earth's crust that has shaped this landscape over millennia. The fault line serves as a reminder of the volatile forces that lie dormant beneath our feet.
Capable of reshaping the world in an instant, the steep sides of the Loch, carved by ancient glaciers, plunge sharply into the depth, offering no shallow refuge for the unwary swimmer. The Loch is part of the larger Caledonian Canal system, a 60-mile waterway connecting Scotland's east and west coasts.
This feat of engineering, impressive as it is, serves as a reminder of humanity's attempts to tame and control nature. Yet the loch remains wild and unpredictable, its moods changing with the highland weather. Mists can descend in moments, shrouding the water in an impenetrable veil, and disorienting even experienced boaters.
The villages that dot the loch's shores, places like Drumnadrakit and Fort Augustus, seem to cling precariously to the edges of this vast body of water. Their inhabitants live in a delicate balance with the loch, respecting its power and beauty, while always aware of its potential for danger. Stories of strange sightings and unexplained phenomena have been passed down through generations.
keeping alive the sense of mystery and unease. Nestled on the western shore of Loch Ness, Urquhart Castle stands as a haunting sentinel of Scotland's turbulent past. Its weathered stones, perched atop a rocky promontory, have witnessed centuries of conflict and intrigue.
The castle's origins stretch back to the 6th century, but it was during the wars of Scottish independence in the 14th century that Urquhart truly etched its name into the annals of history. Today, visitors wander through the atmospheric ruins, the crumbling walls whispering tales of siege and valor. The Great Tower House, the best preserved part of the castle, offers breathtaking views across the dark waters of Loch Ness.
As the mist rolls in from the loch, it's easy to imagine ancient clan chiefs and royal armies who once walked these battlements. The deliberate destruction of much of the castle in 1692, to prevent its use by Jacobite forces, adds a poignant note to its legacy.
Now, Urquhart Castle serves as a silent guardian of Loch Ness, its shattered walls a testament to Scotland's enduring spirit and a backdrop for countless hopeful monster spotters. At the southwestern end of Loch Ness lies Fort Augustus, a village steeped in history and engineering marvels. The heart of Fort Augustus is dominated by the impressive lock system of the Caledonian Canal, known as Neptune's Staircase.
This 19th century feat of engineering allows boats to navigate the changing elevations, linking the village to a watery highway that spans Scotland.
Overlooking this scene is the imposing Gothic Revival architecture of the former Augustus Abbey, once a center of Benedictine monastic life and later a school. Its transformed luxury apartments still command attention, a symbol of the village's ability to adapt, while honoring its past. The village's very name echoes its military heritage, derived from a fort built in 1715 to quell highland unrest.
Though the original fort is gone, its legacy lives on in the village's layout and history. Visitors to Fort Augustus find themselves at a crossroads of Scottish history, where the engineering triumphs of the Industrial Revolution meet the echoes of clan warfare and religious devotion.
Here at the threshold of the Loch, the past and present of the Highlands converge, offering a glimpse into the complex tapestry of Scottish heritage. As visitors stand on the shores of Loch Ness, gazing out over its vast expanse, they may feel a sense of peace and connection with nature.
The play of light on the water, the cry of ospreys overhead, the distant silhouette of mountains, all conspire to create a scene of breathtaking beauty. But in the back of their minds, there's often a whisper of unease, a recognition that beauty and danger often go hand in hand. In the natural world,
The loch's ecosystem, while supporting a variety of fish species, including Atlantic salmon and trout, is notably lacking in the smaller fish and aquatic plants one might expect in such a large body of water. This absence adds to the sense of something being not quite right, as if the loch is holding its secrets close. In the misty depths of the loch, a legend lurks
that has captivated the world for generations. The Loch Ness Monster, known affectionately as Nessie, is more than just a cryptid. It's a manifestation of our deepest fears and most fervent hopes about the unknown. As the dark waters of Loch Ness lap against its shores, one can almost feel the weight of centuries of mystery pressing down, whispering of secrets hidden beneath the surface.
The story of Nessie stretches back into the mists of time, to the 6th century, when Irish monk St. Columba reportedly encountered a beast in the River Ness. This early account set the stage for centuries of folklore, but it was in the 1930s that Nessie truly emerged from the shadows to capture the world's imagination.
On a fateful day in 1933, the Inverness Courier reported a local couple sighting of an enormous animal rolling and plunging on the surface. With those words, a modern legend was born. Descriptions of the monster vary, adding to its mysterious nature. Most eyewitnesses speak of a large, long-necked creature, reminiscent of a plesiosaur, a marine reptile, long thought extinct.
Some accounts mention humps protruding from the water, while others describe a more serpentine form. The inconsistency in these reports only serves to deepen the mystery, allowing our imaginations to run wild with possibilities. What manner of creature could evade definitive description for so long? The most infamous piece of evidence in Nessie's saga is the surgeon's photograph from 1934.
This grainy image, showing a long neck and small head emerging from the rippling water, became the definitive portrait of the Loch Ness Monster for decades. It sparked countless debates and inspired generations of monster hunters. However, in a twist befitting the creature's elusive nature, the photograph was revealed in 1994 to be an elaborate hoax involving a toy submarine and a sculpted head.
The revelation sent shockwaves through the cryptozoology community, but far from ending the legend, it only seemed to add another layer of intrigue to Nessie's story. Over the years, numerous expeditions have braved the cold, dark waters of Loch Ness in search of its most famous inhabitant.
In the 1960s, the Loch Ness Investigation Bureau conducted a 10-year observational survey. Their dedicated watchers, logging an impressive 3,535 hours of watch time, despite their vigilance, Nessie remained elusive.
Though many unidentified sightings were recorded, the monster seemed to taunt its pursuers. Always just out of reach, always hidden by the next wave or shrouded in mist. As technology advanced, so too did the methods of those seeking Nessie. Sonar surveys have probed the loch's depth, underwater cameras have peered into its murky waters, and even DNA analysis has been employed in the quest for proof.
In 2003, the BBC sponsored an extensive scientific search using 600 separate sonar beams and satellite tracking. This study concluded that Nessie was, almost certainly, a myth. Yet, even in the face of such evidence, the legend endures. It's as if the very waters of Loch Ness resist scientific scrutiny.
guarding their secrets with jealous tenacity. The allure of the Loch Ness Monster goes beyond mere cryptozoological curiosity. It taps into our primal fears of the unknown depths, and what might lurk there. The idea that a prehistoric creature could have survived, hidden from human eyes for millennia, speaks to our sense of wonder about the natural world and our place in it.
In Nessie, we see a reflection of our own hopes and fears about the untamed wilderness that still exists in pockets of our world. Moreover, the Loch Ness Monster represents the triumph of imagination over reality. In a world increasingly explained by science, Nessie offers a tantalizing hint of mystery, a chance that there might still be wonders beyond our understanding.
Each ripple on the Loch's surface, each unexplained sonar blip, becomes a potential sign of the monster's presence, keeping alive the possibility of discovery. The economic impact of the Nessie phenomenon cannot be overstated. The monster has become a major driver of tourism in the Scottish Highlands, with hundreds of thousands of visitors flocking to Loch Ness each year.
They come armed with cameras and an earnest hope of being the one to finally capture irrefutable evidence of the beast. Souvenir shops line the roads, boat tours criss-cross the loch, and visitor centers offer interactive exhibits on the monster's history. It's as if the entire region has been transformed into a stage for an endless hunt, with Nessie as the ever-elusive quarry.
Yet for all the commercial exploitation, there remains a sense of reverence and protectiveness among locals. Towards their legendary neighbor, many view Nessie as a symbol of the region's wild, untamed nature. A reminder that there are still secrets hidden in the mists and waters of the highlands. In hushed tones, they'll share stories passed down through generations of close encounters and near misses with the beast.
As night falls over Loch Ness and the last two boats return to shore, a different atmosphere settles over the water. In the gathering darkness, it's easy to imagine something ancient and unknowable gliding beneath the surface. The loch becomes a portal to a primordial world where monsters still roam, and the boundary between myth and reality blurs.
Whether Nessie is a living creature, a myth, or something in between, its impact on our collective psyche is undeniable. The Loch Ness Monster serves as a powerful reminder of the mysteries that still exist in our world, proof of the power of legend, and a challenge to our understanding of nature.
As long as the dark waters of Loch Ness keep their secrets, the legend of Nessie will continue to haunt our imaginations, lurking just beneath the surface of our rational minds, ready to emerge when we least expect it. Loch Ness serves as a powerful metaphor for nature itself: beautiful, awe-inspiring, but also mysterious and potentially deadly.
Its waters dark and deep mirror our own subconscious fears and fascinations. It reminds us that even in the most picturesque settings, we must remain alert to the hidden dangers that may lurk just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when our guard is down to reveal themselves.
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Overnight, Duncan's Pumpkin Spice Coffee has sent folks into a cozy craze. I'm Lauren LaTulip reporting live from home in my hand-knit turtleneck that my nana made me. Mmm, cinnamony. The home with Duncan is where you want to be. Six months after Angus MacLeod's disappearance, his grandson, Alistair, arrived in the village. At 22 years old, he was a student of zoology at the University of Edinburgh.
drawn back to his ancestral home by the reports of the Loch Ness Monster. "Granny," Alistair said gently, sitting across from Morag at the kitchen table, "I need you to tell me everything you know about what happened to Grandad." Morag's hands shook as she clutched her teacup. "There's nothing to tell, boy. He went out fishing and never came back. The Loch took him, and it's taken many before.
Alasdair leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity. "But what about the monster? The papers are full of stories." "Wheesh," Morag hissed, glancing nervously at the windows as if afraid something might be listening. "We do not speak of such things here."
But Alasdair was not easily dissuaded. Over the next few days, he spoke to everyone in the village who would talk to him, piecing together the events of that fateful day and the strange occurrences that had followed. Armed with this information and his own scientific knowledge, Alasdair decided to do what no one else had dared. He would go out onto the loch at night, when the monster was said to be most active.
"You cannot do this," Ian Campbell pleaded with him as he prepared his boat. "It's too dangerous. Whatever's out there, it's not natural." Alistair gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, Ian. I'm just going to take some photographs, maybe some water samples. I'll be back before you know it." As Alistair rode out into the darkness, he felt excitement and trepidation.
The loch was calm, the surface like black glass reflecting the starry sky above. He had brought with him a camera, several empty sample bottles, and a powerful electric torch. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft splash of his oars. As he ventured further from shore, a thick mist began to rise from the water, curling around his boat like ghostly fingers. "Steady on, Alistair."
He muttered to himself, trying to quell the growing unease in his stomach. You're a man of science, not some superstitious villager. For hours, nothing happened. Alistair took his samples and photographs, carefully documenting everything in his notebook. But as the night wore on, and the temperature dropped, he began to think that perhaps the monster was just a myth after all. That's when he heard it.
A low, rumbling sound that seemed to come from the depths of the lock itself. Alistair froze, his hand tightening on the torch. Slowly, he turned in a circle, scanning the water with the beam of light. "Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding small and insignificant in the vastness of the lock. "Is anyone there?"
No response came, save for the eerie echo of his own voice bouncing back from the distant shore. The mist thickened further, reducing visibility to mere feet around his boat. Suddenly, a voice drifted through the fog, so faint Alistair wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. "Alistair! Alistair!" He spun around, heart racing. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
The voice came again, louder this time, and with a jolt, Alistair recognized it. Grandad? he whispered, disbelieving. Come to me, boy, the voice of his grandfather called. Come and see what I've found. Alistair's scientific mind rebelled against what he was hearing. It was impossible. His grandfather was dead, taken by the lock months ago. And yet...
He began to row towards the voice, drawn by a mix of hope and morbid curiosity. The mist parted before him, creating a narrow channel that seemed to lead him onwards. That's when he heard it, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to come from the depths of the lock itself. Alasdair froze, his hand tightening on the torch. Slowly he turned in a circle, scanning the water with the beam of light.
At first he saw nothing, but then, about fifty yards away, something broke the surface of the water. Alasdair gasped as he caught sight of a long, muscular neck rising from the lock, water cascading off scales that glinted in the torchlight. With trembling hands, Alasdair raised his camera and began to snap pictures.
The creature seemed curious about the light, its head swiveling to face him. As it drew closer, Alasdair could make out more details. The small, reptilian head, the large, intelligent eyes, the powerful body just visible beneath the water's surface. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Alistair found himself torn between scientific fascination and primal fear. This was what he had come for, the proof that would shock the world. But as the creature drew ever closer to his small boat, Alistair began to realize the danger he was in. He remembered his grandfather, his boat found smashed to pieces. Whatever this creature was, it was not merely a gentle giant.
It was a predator, and Alistair was in its hunting grounds. As if sensing his fear, the creature let out a roar that shook the very air. Alistair dropped his camera, scrambling for the oars. But before he could start rowing, the monster dived, disappearing beneath the dark waters. Alistair's heart pounded as he scanned the lock, trying to guess where it might surface next. The silence was oppressive.
broken only by his ragged breathing and the gentle lapping of waves against the boat. Suddenly, the boat lurched violently. Alasdair yelled as he was thrown to the floor, his torch flying from his hand and plunging the boat into darkness. He could feel the monster beneath him, its massive body lifting the boat partially out of the water. In that moment of terror, Alasdair understood why the villagers feared the lock.
why they spoke of the monster in whispers, if at all. This was not a creature that could be studied or understood. It was a force of nature, as ancient and unknowable as the lock itself. As the boat began to tilt, water rushing in over the sides, Alasdair closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. He thought of his grandfather, wondered if this was how he had felt in his final moments.
But then, as suddenly as it had begun, the attack stopped. The boat splashed back down into the water, rocking violently but miraculously still intact. Alasdair lay there, gasping for breath, afraid to move lest he provoke the creature again. Minutes passed, then an hour. Slowly, Alasdair realized that the monster was gone.
With shaking hands, he found the oars and began to row back towards shore, never taking his eyes off the dark water around him. As the first light of dawn began to break over the hills, Alistair finally reached the shore. He stumbled out of the boat and collapsed on the pebbly beach, his body shaking with sobs of relief and lingering terror. It was there that Ian found him, alerted by his cries.
As he helped him to his feet, Alistair caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. There, clearly visible in the soft sand of the shore, was a massive, three-toed print. "Do ye believe now?" Ian asked softly, following his gaze. Alistair nodded. Unable to speak, he understood now why the villagers kept their silence.
why they tried to discourage outsiders from investigating too deeply. The monster of Loch Ness was real, and it wasn't something to be trifled with. As Ian led him back to the village, Alistair made a decision. He would not publish his findings, would not develop the photographs he had taken. Some secrets were best left in the depths where they belong. But as he glanced back at the loch,
now peaceful in the morning light. Alistair couldn't shake the feeling that it was not the end. The monster was still out there, waiting in the dark waters. And someday, somehow, it would make its presence known to the world. For now, though, the lock kept its secrets, and the monster of Loch Ness remained a mystery. A tale whispered around firesides,
A shadow glimpsed in the mist. A legend that would endure for generations to come. Thank you for joining us on our journey to Loch Ness in Inverness, Scotland. Tune in next week as we discuss another terrorific location. I'm Carmen Carrion. Remember, you can send me suggestions and stories of haunted places to my email. CarmenCarrion at gmail.com
or follow me on Twitter at Carmen Carrion. Go to eeriecast.com to find other terrifying podcasts, such as Freaky Folklore, hosted by me, Carmen Carrion. Until next time, stay safe out there, until I see you at our next destination.
